by Lady Bast
"No."
"But, Master..."
"I said no, Tetiun. Once, twice and a thousand times. We're going hunting, not to a grand feast. I'll have enough of a retinue with my cursed guards."
"But what if..."
"We've gone over each and every 'what if'," sighed Trowa. "If I pull a muscle or break a leg or, gods forbid, if my make-up should run or my skin get dry, it will be dealt with."
"Not suitably, Master," fretted the body servant as he trailed the taller man down the corridor. "You are a prince, Master. You must maintain the proper appearance. To do any less would be...barbaric."
"Good! Everything will be in its proper perspective then! My people are still considered barbarians here, aren't they?" Trowa smiled, self-satisfied, as Tetiun blushed beneath his gaze. "I thought as much. No one will be bothered by the odd social slip from a barbarian prisoner of war. I appreciate your help in palace affairs, but I won't need you in the desert."
"Oh, Master...the desert is a terrible place! The air has not even had time to cool! It will burn your eyes and throat and..."
"Your former master, Duo, seems to like it well enough."
Frustrated with the need to say something that could not be put into words, Tetiun stopped, shouting, "Master, Duo is mad!" as he stamped his foot for emphasis.
Trowa paused. He had never before heard the body servant speak of the priest with anything less than praise. His sudden admission that Duo something other than remarkable bore weight. But even so, this was neither the time nor the place for such antics and others were beginning to take note.
"Mad and too lenient. I need your services as a guide and I am thankful that you are not too shy to speak your mind in these circumstances," said Trowa, avoiding the eyes of those who had stopped to watch the exchange, "but there should be a limit. If you were assigned to serve me, then my final wish is law. I intend to take part in this hunt. I intend to do so with a minimal number of people trailing along behind me."
"There is something terrible in the air, Master..."
Trowa felt an irrational surge of anger. Even with his servile nature taken into consideration, there was no reason for the body servant to be carrying on in such a matter. In retrospect, Trowa thought that perhaps he should have taken it as a sign. He did not. "You are a diviner then? A priest who can read omens?" he sniffed, turning to leave. "Go back to the room, Tetiun, or use your time freely, but don't follow me to the stables."
But tension was in the air. Trowa felt it too. Fingers dug deeply into the flesh of his arm, using his momentary surprise to pull him around. "Master, please..."
Trowa was not even aware that he had moved until he felt the impact of his hand across the servant's face. Tetiun released his arm in shock and stumbled back. It was obvious that he had never been struck in anger. Trowa might have felt guilty at the thought despite his higher station, but now he felt only the eyes of the palace upon him, analyzing him, waiting for his next move. "You overstep yourself!" he shouted. "Are you the master now, that you command me? I intend to go out...I'm tired of this palace! I listened to your protests and I disagree...I owe no other explanation. If this doesn't satisfy you, take it up with your Prince!"
The moment the words passed his lips, Trowa regretted them. Though he was right in commanding a servant back to his station, he had always prided himself for the ability to avoid unnecessary cruelty. Now he had both struck a servant - for an offense normally left unpunished, no less - and deliberately offered a choice that was no choice at all. Confiding in Prince Quatre would quickly find Tetiun a witness to stand against him and he would be exiled from the palace, if not the city.
The corridor itself seemed to exhale with the passing of the moment and those who had stopped to watched went about their business. The tension broken, Tetiun slipped easily back into the role of servant. His bowed deeply, the lines of his body relaxed and without reproach. Only a vague gleam of hurt in his eyes acknowledged Trowa's moment of anger and soon this, too, vanished, as the young man lowered his gaze in respect. "As you have said, Master. I will return to the apartment. Good hunting to you."
And he was gone.
Guilt gnawed at Trowa's heart though he should not have felt such depth of emotion for a servant. Still, it was there, a product of the moment that had passed. He would bear it and not call Tetiun back for, loathe as he was to admit it, the body servant was right; there was something in the air and it would not permit him to go back. It pushed him ever forward and, in some odd way, reminded him of Duo and what he had set out to do.
Ever-present guards in tow, Trowa turned his mind and feet toward the stables.
"Trowa! I'm glad you decided to join me! But are you sure that these two can keep up?"
Duo raised a hand in greeting from where he stood watching the stable hands ready his chariot. His quirky grin indicated that no offense had been meant, and Trowa thought he heard the Prince's Saracen guard snort lightly in amusement behind him. "I needed some time away from the palace," said Trowa, looking over the horses and their burden with some apprehension. The horses were fine beasts, their muscles bunching and rippling beneath their glossy coats as they stamped and tossed their heads. The chariot did not look so fine. "I am not expected to ride in that, am I?"
"That chariot happens to have been made by one of the finest craftsmen in Weset!" said Duo, feigning insult. "It is lightweight and collapsible for easy stacking in wagons when exporting or travelling over rough terrain. Riding one is like flying."
"And if it collapses while we're riding, we really will fly," snorted Trowa in return.
Duo laughed as the Teresh prince inspected the chariot. Made of bent wood, carefully shaped and tightly corded, it had been sanded to a bare white gleam. Stretched and gilded hide created a front piece decorated with the same animals which had graced Duo's pectoral the night of the feast. Trowa did not recognize them, but they created an elegant design in red and gold. The floor board was little more than a lattice work of sticks reinforced with woven mat. At least the wheels - eight-spoked with a thick rim - seemed sturdy enough. The axle, on the other hand...
But Duo trusted his life to this chariot so there was no reason that he should not. They were not even going off to war and with a reputation like those of Kemet's charioteers, he surely would have heard of any cases in which their transport had simply folded up. It was a hope worth clinging to.
"So, fearsome barbarian, does my chariot match your expectations?"
"Easily. I didn't expect very much from you, after all," replied Trowa with a smile. He winced slightly as Duo tugged on a twist of his hair and laughingly pushed the priest away. "I'm surprised you didn't have the whole thing gilded. I thought the priesthood was greedy and decadent."
Duo replied with a sniff of disdain. "Oh, we are! We are! But some of us are less fond of flash and pomp than others."
"I'll bet Prince Quatre doesn't like to be upstaged either."
"Ah well, if you want to put it that way." The priest rolled his eyes and then winked at Trowa. "Even so, I'm sure he doesn't know how swift my horses are. Not as pretty as the palace ponies, but sometimes you have to sacrifice appearance for real power."
Trowa wondered briefly if the words held a deeper meaning, then followed Duo as they stepped closer to examine the beasts. The horses tossed their heads lightly and shuffled in place. They seemed slightly nervous about having a stranger approach them, but did not appear aggressive. This was reassuring...the muscles that bunched and rolled beneath their sleek, dark hides told Trowa that such horses could tear him to pieces if such a desire ever entered their minds.
"Beautiful, aren't they? I know a breeder outside of Weset. Their sires were part of a caravan that Abdul helped escort across the desert years ago before joining the Prince's guard here in Nekheb."
"It has its advantages, but there are still days I'd rather be with the horses."
Trowa turned to see Abdul himself enter the stables. Abdul was seldom seen during daylight hours and the last time Trowa had spent any extended time in the man's company, he was being escorted away from the palace wing that housed the Prince's sleeping quarters. Having him visit the stables was surprising enough, but when he dismissed Trowa's current Saracen guard, the Teresh prince couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. It was joined by the second when Heero himself entered the stables and dismissed his own soldier.
Duo remained unfazed. "Abdul!" he cried, raising a hand in greeting. "Good of you to join us! We can use the swifter horses if you'll be commanding them. I don't trust many of the newer guards to be able to handle them, but you are a master!" He waved a hand in Heero's general direction, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. "This one...I don't know. Do we have any of the ponies available Merit?"
"I am perfectly capable of commanding a chariot, priest," said Heero impassively. "And I'll need two of your strongest if Trowa is to be riding with us."
"Trowa rides with me!" declared Duo. "I was the one who extended the invitation and I am the one to show him how we hunt in the desert."
"He is my responsibility," replied the soldier firmly. "Do you think that I would be here if I trusted his safety to your care? Even the Prince was uncertain enough to send Abdul rather than a lesser guard."
"Better that Trowa should ride with Abdul than you," snapped Duo in self-righteous anger. "What do you know of it, little Horus? You come from the marshes of the Delta!"
"I have been on desert campaigns."
"This is not a campaign!"
"Am I to be fought over like a child's toy?" said Trowa loudly. Priest and soldier both turned to look at him, somewhat confused. They seemed to have forgotten that he was there. "This is tiresome! If I'd known I'd be fought over like a piece of land, I'd have stayed in my apartments and drafted letters to my sister and father...at least then Meribast would have been happy."
Heero looked vaguely embarrassed, but steeled himself and nodded once. Duo seemed flustered, his face contorting beneath an odd mixture of apology and self-reproach. "Of course," he said, bowing low, "I am sorry, Trowa. You are a guest here and a prince and I should have offered you your choice. I should have known better. I am sorry...I should have known better..."
"No harm done," said Trowa impassively. "I am no more interested in having my neck broken than either the Prince or my guard. So tell me truthfully, Abdul - as you are the only one to keep your head - who is the better charioteer among the three of you?"
"Duo," he answered promptly. His eyes, heavily kholed, gave no indication that he was speaking other than the truth. "I handle horses very well, but Duo is much better at steering a chariot. I know nothing of Heero's abilities, but I would trust my life to Duo's."
"We're hunting in the desert...which of you knows it best?"
"Duo or myself. I doubt Heero has spent as much time there as we have," said Abdul. "I've crossed it often enough, but...to be honest...Duo has studied it much longer."
"Ah...I see." Trowa pretended to muse quietly on the issue while Heero stood stiffly and Duo shifted anxiously from foot to foot. "So...if Duo is the better chariot driver and knows the territory we will be covering the best, then I think it must be in my best interests to travel with him. After all, I have no intentions of escaping into such an unwelcoming landscape."
A grin lit Duo's face and he quickly bowed to hide his glee, mercifully silent. Heero, too, said nothing, but nodded stiffly before signalling to the grooms to ready a chariot for his use. Abdul gave a slight shrug, smiled, and did the same, supervising the care of the horses himself. Feeling otherwise useless, Trowa recruited some stable hands to fill water bags.
He had the feeling that it was going to be a long hunt.
I really should have gone with Abdul.
The thought itself was nearly ripped from Trowa's head as the wind rushed by him, howling in his ears. The bend wood of the chariot shuddered and rattled beneath his feet, the vibrations coursing through his legs, making them weak. Or perhaps that was simply fear. He knew for a fact that his fingers must have dug grooves into the smooth wooden rail by now, though it still quivered in his hands as though it were alive. Brief laughter rang to the left of him and was swept away on the wind. He considered yelling for Duo to slow down, but knew he would never be heard...not at this speed.
The desert flew by them in a blur of warm earth tones and it was all that Trowa could do to look at them without quaking in fear. As it was, he crouched as low as he dared, silently cursing his height. He all but towered over the much shorter priest and even he was bent over his reigns to resist the pull of the air. A faint pounding from behind them caused Trowa to suspect that Heero and Abdul were indeed on their trail, but he was afraid to raise his head to look back. The last thing he needed was the indignity and injury of being tossed out of the chariot like a worn rag.
A sharp pull on the reigns slowed the chariot considerably and Trowa felt the wind knocked out of him as he was thrown forward, the wooden rail biting into his belly. Their pace was still swift, but far from the break-neck gallop of a moment before. With a sigh of relief, Trowa permitted himself to breathe again. "What do you think, foreign prince?" grinned Duo, speaking loudly to be heard over the rattling of the chariot. The wisps of hair that had managed to escape his braid floated, wind-blown, about his face. There was something wild and untamed in the lines of his body; a rapture that echoed in his voice. "Isn't it like flying?"
"I would have thought flying would be much smoother," replied Trowa hoarsely. "Don't do that again."
He received more laughter in reply. Duo, it seemed, was enamoured with the excursion - the earth, the sky, and the speed alike - and Trowa found his good mood infectious. For the first time since that afternoon, he smiled and felt himself relax. "You are certainly in a better humour than Tetiun today," he said. "He is forward enough under normal circumstances, but today he has been nearly impossible. I was forced to reprimand him...more harshly than intended I'm afraid. I think there is something in the air."
For a moment Duo looked vaguely embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he said quite seriously.
"Hardly your fault," replied Trowa, amused.
"I had a chart cast for the month," insisted Duo. "It said today would be full of conflicts. If I'd have known they'd apply to you as well, I'd have warned you. Still," he said with resignation, "you can't change the past. Take the bad with the good and the bad just might have some surprising results..."
"And just what is that supposed to mean?"
"Well...you know what they say. Make-up sex is always the best."
Clinging with his right hand, Trowa felt just daring enough to let go and lightly punch Duo with his left. "There is nothing to make up! I intend to be more careful next time, but a servant and master relationship is still a servant and master relationship. There are limits."
Duo looked amused and seemed on the verge of replying when his eyes widened gleefully and he slowed the chariot until it came to a gentle stop. Abdul immediately drew up on their left and Heero arrived only moments later, flanking them on the right. Duo quickly scanned the sky and then pointed off to the south west where careful study revealed a number of gazelle pulling at the scrub grasses of the desert's edge.
"Hn...the wind's wrong," grunted Heero. "We'll have to go around."
"Best to get in as close as possible before the chase," Duo agreed. "If they get wind of us, they'll be gone before you can even blink."
Not entirely thrilled by the thought of another madcap race, Trowa ventured a suggestion. "If they're that swift, why use the chariots at all? Why not approach, discard them, and then stalk your prey? You'd get much closer and be more likely to hit something in that case."
This must have struck Duo as funny - Trowa wondered briefly what might not strike Duo as funny - for the priest burst out in a fresh peal of laughter. Abdul, too, chuckled slightly and Heero offered him a nonchalant shrug...a sign of confusion happily ignored.
"Where is the fun in stalking?" grinned Duo when the laughter had subsided. "We hardly need the meat at the palace so it doesn't matter if we catch one or not. The real sport is in seeing if you're skilled enough to keep up with them. Enough to fire an arrow at any rate. But we'll have to go now if we're to get you back before the evening meal. Hyah!"
Trowa gasped and clutched at the wooden rail as the chariot lurched forward and quickly picked up speed. They quickly drew ahead of both Heero and Abdul, their formation giving the gazelle a wide berth as they swung around to approach them from downwind. They approached obliquely, changing course abruptly if the animals appeared nervous, but staying always out of the stray breezes that might carry their scent. The animals seemed more occupied with the horses than the riders, but even so they began to shift nervously as the chariot drew closer until one - their leader, perhaps - decided they were foe rather than friend and leapt away from the frightening vehicles, determined to outrun them. Where one went, the others followed...and in the chariot, Duo urged his horses to go faster as Trowa clung for dear life to the bent wood of the rattling contraption.
Because the chariot was already moving and the gazelle had only begun to make their escape, the sudden acceleration of the horses closed the distance between hunter and game more quickly than Trowa would have expected. He heard nothing but the rushing of the wind; saw nothing but the blur of fur and hooves ahead of him. He was shaking in mortal fear, but some small part of him was also exhilarated by the speed and the power. He didn't think that they would catch up with the gazelle, but they were close enough for the firing of arrows.
But how?
In war, Trowa had watched archers aim their bows from chariots, but always there was another man driving the vehicle. Heero rode alone...as did Abdul. If anyone chose to hunt, it would be from Duo's chariot. Trowa had thought he might give it a try - even now his bow was slung on his back - but now he didn't dare to let go long enough to grab it. What then had been the point of the hunt?
It was then that he noticed that Duo was steering with only one hand. The other was very carefully wrapping the ends of the reins around his waist and tying them off in a knot. Trowa groaned, a sound which must have been carried to Duo's ears before being swept away on the wind for the priest laughed at him once again.
"This is just a precaution!" Duo shouted near his ear. "To help keep them steady when you grab them..."
Trowa was stunned. "What?"
"When I let go, I want you to grab the reins," repeated Duo. "Don't do anything...just hold them straight."
"WHAT?"
"And make sure you don't spill us...I'd rather not be dragged against the landscape," said Duo, ignoring him. "Ready?"
"NO!"
But it was too late. The priest had already released the thick strips of leather, the lack of tight control, beginning to confuse the horses. As afraid of a spill at this speed as Duo must surely be, Trowa grabbed at the reins and held them firmly, trying not to pull back and frighten the horses into a sudden stop. Beside him he felt Duo fumbling for his bow and arrows. Trowa was tempted to look and see how it was managed, but he didn't dare take his eyes off the horses or the landscape ahead. He prayed he wouldn't have to turn the animals or force them to stop.
Near to his cheek he felt the drawing of a bowstring, the nocked arrow so close he thought the feather might have brushed him as it was pulled back. He knew without looking that tension was in every line of Duo's body - how could he stand there without holding on? - and he could feel that tension being pulled upward. Up...up...into the bowstring...
Trowa flinched even as the tension was released and the air snapped a hair's breadth from his cheek. From the corner of his eye, he saw the arrow fly wild, but Duo only laughed as he grabbed the reins and straightened the horses.
"Steady, Trowa!" he shouted against the wind, greatly amused. "Don't move!"
"Easy for you," huffed Trowa under his breath, the words swept away before they could even reach his own ears. Again the reins were released and again he took them firmly in hand, this time with a fierce determination. Again the bow was drawn, its arrow barely kissing the foreign prince's cheek.
But the release of tension didn't come with the almost musical chord of the bowstring. Even as Trowa readied himself to be burnt by the speed of the arrow's departure, Duo withdrew the bow, slung it back over his shoulder and grabbed the reins. The chariot slowed and then came to a stop. Trowa tried to ask what was wrong, but realized that Duo's concentration was elsewhere...particularly on the Eastern horizon. He tried to see for himself what was so distracting, but found nothing, and then Abdul and Heero were flanking them once again and his attention was diverted by Duo's words.
Because the empire's size had made it a major merchant power, there were few countries who were not familiar with the language of Kemet. Trowa himself could speak it quite fluently, dialects excluded, and knew enough script to read and write simple letters. He could even read simple hieroglyphic texts though he hadn't the skill to write them. Even so, there were concepts that he had not learned and did not recognize simply because it had never been necessary to do so. One such word escaped Duo's mouth amid a string of curses.
"Heero, take your charge and bring him back to the city. See that he goes directly to the palace. I have to run ahead," said the priest to the soldier. Heero seemed confused and Abdul pressed to know the cause so the strange word was said again. Trowa fought to decipher it, barely realizing that he was being addressed.
"Sorry, Trowa, but this is important. You understand, don't you?" Trowa did not, but there was a determination in Duo's eyes that was best not ignored. He nodded and stepped down from the chariot. "Thanks. I'll travel faster without the double load."
Duo offered Trowa a small bow of apology, then signaled his horses to be off. As he was climbing in with Heero, Trowa heard Abdul urge his own horses into action and moments later, their own chariot was picking up speed.
"Heero," said Trowa, determined to get his question in before the rushing wind could blow them away. "What's a 'sandstorm'?"
Heero's face remained impassive, but his eyes widened as if in surprise. "It is when the wind whips the desert sand up so thickly that you can neither see, nor breathe."
"There can't really be such a thing." For a moment Trowa was certain that the natives were playing games with the foreigner, but the clench of Heero's jaw told him otherwise. "But there is hardly any wind and the sky is clear and blue."
"Sandstorms are sudden and often unpredictable," explained the soldier. Then he gestured reluctantly ahead of them where Duo was already nearly out of sight. "The only thing I know about them is never to argue with one of them about it. Now hold on. If the priest is right, I want to be back at the palace before it hits."
Trowa did not need to be told twice.
The air was already filled with grit as they entered the palace grounds. The corners of Trowa's eyes burned with the stuff and he could taste the sand as it was ground between his teeth. It's even worse than the bread, he thought absently as Heero brought the chariot to a stop so that the grooms could quickly unhitch the horses. Abdul's chariot had already been dismantled and was being returned to storage. Everywhere people were running about, lashing down equipment and securing doors and shutters.
Before the palace's entrance stood Duo's chariot. Two new horses had been harnessed and they were tossing their heads and stepping nervously, attuned to the chaos around them. Trowa gave them a wide berth as he mounted the first set of stairs to the palace door, gratified to see that his guards, too, were avoiding the frightened animals. Trowa barely had time to wonder if Duo truly meant to go out again when the priest himself burst through the doors and flew down the steps amid a chaotic bustling of people. Seb tried to dress him with jewellery and hair combs, drawing his master's attention only long enough to affix amulets or catch fly-away strands of hair with comb. The serving girl with the golden beads - Khemti-Nub - tried desperately to thrust what appeared to be a basket of loaves into Duo's hands. Even Tetiun was there, holding out a carved box with a leather strap and apologizing profusely for having gone into the priests chambers though he knew the equipment would be needed. Wufei trailed along quietly, observing the activity, ready to become involved if his help was required. Selket-em-paf hurried alongside him, his face a mask of uncertainty. He appeared to be debating the merits of getting involved himself. Het-Hori did nothing but carry a make-up box, moving with the crowd, but otherwise seeming unperturbed. These three should have been with their Prince in Nekhen, but Trowa did not think much about them. He was taken with a most insistent white-clad servant that he did not recognize...
"Set-aket-dua! You will stop this instant and face me! I have words for you!" The bellowing, however, was quite familiar.
Wearing a white linen shirt similar to Wufei's and a headcloth to cover his blond hair, Trowa had not recognized the Prince. He wore no jewellery and no make-up...a fact which seemed to distress Het-Hori in ways that only a body servant could understand...and at this distance, his face was indistinct. Only the commanding tone of voice identified him...a tone that Duo was calmly ignoring.
"Turn and face me, priest! I have words for you!"
"Words like 'fool', 'idiot', 'bastard'," said Abdul in a low tone of voice as the three of them stepped aside to avoid the bustle of Duo's little entourage.
"'Demon', 'killer', 'sheep-herder'," added Heero, straight-faced.
"Ah! That's a good one," grinned Abdul. "I'll have to remember it. 'Ill-bred son of a jackal.'"
"Is this sport in Kemet, then," Trowa asked them with a faint smile. "Next you'll be wagering."
Abdul nodded. "Aye...there's a thought. A beer for every term used?"
"Agreed," said Heero.
"You're both impossible." Trowa shook his head in exasperation though part of him couldn't help but wish that he knew enough of the language to make a wager of his own.
The group had pushed past them now and were gathered around the chariot where Duo was accepting the various offerings of baskets and boxes, reassuring Tetiun that his help was still appreciated and generally ignoring anything that was not directly related to his cause. He tried to mount the vehicle, but the Prince grabbed his arm and wrenched it, spinning the priest around to face him. "You ill-bred son of a jackal! I am ordering you to look at me!"
Abdul made a subdued noise of victory as Heero snorted his derision.
If he felt any fear before Quatre's wrath, Duo did not show it. He projected an air of calm despite the rising winds that pulled at the wisps of hair around his face. "What is so important, My Prince, that you feel the need to keep me from doing my duty?"
"You're 'duty' is in the palace, priest! I pay good money to keep you here!"
"My duty is to the city, according to the temple records. I intend to go out and do what I can."
"We need you here!"
It seemed to Trowa that there was a note of desperation in the Prince's voice, but he said nothing. From where he stood, he could only see Duo's upturned face...Quatre's expression was a complete mystery. From the apprehension of the servants, he might have guessed that it was cold and hard, but the look in Duo's eyes softened and he spoke quietly. So quietly, in fact, that Trowa nearly missed his reply.
"Which we, My Prince? The palace or yourself? Both are made of stone and strong enough to weather a storm. I am going to the low end of the city. Now let me go or I will curse you."
"Demon bastard!" shouted Quatre as Duo twisted out of his grasp. Trowa shook his head as Abdul and Heero both nodded in satisfaction. "Must I order you to stay here?"
"My Prince," replied Duo as he climbed into the chariot and took the reigns. A look of almost physical pain crossed his features. "Please don't force me to commit treason."
There was a tense moment while Duo waited for the Prince's reply. When none was forthcoming, he turned away slowly, mounted his chariot, and took the reins, urging the horses into an almost immediate gallop. In moments he was out of the gate and into the city.
Trowa watched the Prince as the Prince watched the chariot disappear from view, his pose rigid and full of wounded pride. At first there was nothing but an eerie calm - the sort that made servants stand down and slink away - and then a howl of rage and frustration tore itself from Quatre's throat. As it subsided, he turned on his heel and began barking orders. "All of you! Back to your duties! Khemti-Nub, return to the kitchens! Seb! Tetiun! Why are you here and not serving your designated guests? Go! Go! Wufei, make sure all the doors and windows are properly secured! Het-Hori, get your oils and paints together...the rest of you are dismissed!"
A flurry of chaos sent servants scattering in all directions, but it's effects were momentary. In less time than it took the Prince to turn and look into the city, the steps were clear. Seb ducked behind Heero and Tetiun quietly crept in beside his master, casting the occasional look over his shoulder into the palace, longing for the safety of it's walls. Abdul, too, made signs that they should enter, but Trowa refused to move. His attention was wholly captured by the lonesome figure on the steps. He thought, just for a moment, that the profile of Quatre's face was lined with concern so deep that Trowa's heart ached in sympathy. The lonesome figure of the Prince seemed so forlorn, that it came as a shock to Trowa when those fearsome blue eyes were turned on him, their withering stare made more terrible by the eerie golden light which had begun to envelope the city. "What," he said in a voice as sharp as knives, "are you still doing here?"
Trowa bowed quickly. "Awaiting instructions regarding the evening meal," he replied. It sounded trite even to his own ears, but it was the most valid reply he could think of.
"Are you a prince of fools?" snapped Quatre. Then, with a great act of self-control, he calmed himself though his voice remained cold and hard. "Do what you like. I'm tired and I wish to sleep. I will see you tomorrow evening for your first lesson. You can spend the morning with Selkhet-em-paf if you wish to study politics or Wufei if you wish to tour the city. I care not. Goodnight."
The Prince methodically mounted the stairs, Het-Hori trailing behind, and disappeared into the cool dark of the corridor. This time Trowa paid heed to the urging of his guards and followed at a safe distance. The moment they passed into the safety of the palace, the great cedar doors were shut and barred behind them. Unconsciously, his feet turned in the direction of his chambers. He himself was too tired to direct them. The weight of the Prince's caged emotion was like a millstone around his neck. Behind him he heard the light tread of Seb and Tetiun mingled with the heavier step of his guards. And then, a harsh whisper.
"The wager was for Duo, not Trowa. And the term was 'fool'. 'Prince of fools' does not qualify for a beer."
It was with relief that Trowa learned he could still smile.
The wind howled like an angry beast and the occasional swirl of sand spit through the window shutters, stirring the beaded curtain and turning the air into a shower of gold. Trowa lifted his head to watch it fall like trickling rain in the light of the braziers. Tetiun was huddled on his pallet on the far side of the room, wary eyes on the window, jaw clenching every time the shutter rattled. He had not spoken a single word more than was required of him all evening. Trowa wondered if the storm was his only fear.
"Is this usual," he asked, trying to distract his servant and, with any luck, himself.
"No. The storms are usually very swift. At least in the city. I don't know what they're like in the desert." Tetiun shuddered as a cracking sound was heard. Trowa thought it might be one of the trees in the garden. "The god is angry."
"You were right then.There was something terrible in the air."
"I was wrong. It was not for you and I should have said nothing." Tetiun drew his knees up to his chest and crossed his arms on top of them, resting his chin in their folds. His eyes remained downcast as though contemplating the grain of the floor.
Trowa sighed. Part of him rebelled about what he was about to do, but he thought of Quatre and his lonesome silhouette against the darkening sky. "You should not have acted so brashly, it's true. But your concerns were valid even if more discretion could have been used. It was wrong of me to strike you when one of your duties is to look out for your master's welfare."
Tetiun nodded, but remained silent and withdrawn. It angered Trowa somewhat, for he wished for someone to talk to, but he kept his temper in check. What would it say about his character to punish a servant for something that was not his fault? And immediately after an apology no less! Still, he wished for some companionship and had no desire to go drinking with the other soldiers tonight. The storm, though he tried to deny it, was unsettling and the kind of weather where he would prefer to be curled up beside a warm body. He thought briefly of Lucen and his chest tightened. They would not have made a life together, but at least neither of them would have had to spend every night alone.
I am only surprised that you did not find Tetiun to your liking.
Duo's words haunted him even now. Trowa was loathe to use a person for anything...one thing he knew was that grudges could last for generations and ruin potential allies. In a tribe as small as his own, he needed all the loyalty that he could muster. Still, the body servant was as unnerved as he felt and there could be no harm in mutual comfort, could there?
It took no more than a moment's silent debate. Trowa rose soundlessly from his couch and padded over to the body servant's pallet, seating himself with his back against the wall. With a mere hand's span between them they watched the window in silence as it trembled in its frame. "We are being punished," said Tetiun finally. "The god is angry. I wish that our priest had not left us."
"Why would we be punished? And there are other priests in the palace."
Tetiun was quiet for a long while, chewing his lip thoughtfully. Trowa thought that he would have to be prompted, but, finally, he spoke.
"There is none quite like Master Duo. None who can turn back a storm. Every god has their priests, you see, and their priests are the only ones who can placate them." Tetiun sighed. "Perhaps the Prince has been keeping him from his appointed rituals. I know that he will skip such matters to please the Prince though I have begged him not to."
"The way you speak, you must have a storm every time that Duo misbehaves. In that case it's a wonder you're not buried in sand," said Trowa, forcing a smile.
Tetiun shook his head in denial of his master's ignorance. "The god is angry. Listen, Master. Listen truly. I would be happy if you could tell me that it isn't so."
Though he would have preferred to ignore the raging winds, Trowa did as he was asked. He closed his eyes and listened carefully. His mind told him that he heard little more than air beating violently against the shutters and opened his mouth to repeat these thoughts to his servant, but a nagging feeling prevented him. His deepest heart burned in his chest even as it had on that night beneath the moon, sensing in it cool femininity and magic. It spoke to him of want and hate. The wind wanted the city and hated it too. It was a festering wound hidden in the body of the empire; its putrefaction hidden by the clean and healthy skin that covered it. The city was stagnant. The city was dying. There were no children in its palace. There was no love within its walls. It had ceased to grow, to change, to learn. It clung to its last bit of life, but this was quickly dissolving and the wind could taste it. When the last spark flickered and died, the desert would claim it with out remorse for that was its nature and its power.
Trowa did not look at Tetiun. "I see," he said.
Without thinking, Trowa has shifted his position so that he was closer to his body servant. He could feel the trembling of Tetiun's body even though they were not in physical contact. The wind howled fiercely and Trowa put his arm around his servant even as Tetiun shrank instinctively into the source of heat that was his body. He felt an arm around his neck, a thigh against his own, and a certain defiance surged into his blood as the lesser two became a stronger whole. Tetiun, too, had stopped shivering.
The city is dying. There are no children in its palace. There is no love within its walls.
It wouldn't be love, no, but Trowa was sure that they had more to offer than anyone else in the Prince's shelter. More than Katrah-en himself, for certain. More than the stony Hor-ah and his quiet wife, Relena. More than their servants and the efficient Wufei. More than the palace guard and unless the staff was given to mad, passionate love in the wine cellars, more than they as well. It wouldn't be love, but it would be more than any here would dare to offer and perhaps it would be enough to strengthen the ties of life for just one more night.
He was already engaged in a deep and lasting kiss when Trowa realized where his thoughts had taken him. He pulled away reluctantly. "I can use many things, but I cannot use a person. Not even a servant," he said with regret.
"Master, I am your body servant. Your will is my will."
"I know that!" Trowa wrestled with his frustration. "I want that...but I want you to want it too."
"I want it, Master."
Such simple words could not possibly mean so much. "You say that because you feel you must."
"I want it...Trowa." Tetiun fixed him with a level gaze. "I know that I must not refer to you as such. Do my words carry weight now, Master?" When Trowa didn't answer, he continued. "I am a servant, Master, not an idiot. Are we not of an age? Why should I know any less about physical love than you. Indeed, why should any proper lord know more about it than an earthy peasant?"
Trowa had to admit that Tetiun had a point. Even so, "Do you prefer men, then?"
"I don't see what gender has to do with it."
The Teresh prince chuckled softly. "Something you learned from Duo? "
Tetiun smiled in self-satisfaction. "Perhaps," he said and Trowa noticed for the first time how very foreign he was. Not compared to his own people, no - Tetiun was as brown and dark as any son of the Nile - but compared to the Teresh, he was the image of exotic mystery. A shoulder gleaming bronze in the light of the braziers. Eyes pooled in shadow, deep and dark beneath lids heavy with kohl. Long brown limbs shaped by boyish muscle, far more inviting than the softness caress of any women. In this time, in this place, he was the very image of wanton sexuality.
And then Trowa remembered the storm.
"It won't be love," he said.
"It will be enough for now," replied Tetiun, holding out a hand. "Where you lead, Master, I will follow."
The kiss resumed and was not interrupted. The dying braziers cast twinned shadows upon the walls, shadows that danced and flickered and melted together as one.
Outside, the storm raged on.
"The Prince of Nekheb" copyright A.C.Smith (aka Lady Bast), 2002. Send comments to asmith@ican.net Please do not repost or print (other than for personal use) without permission. The Gundam boys and all their paraphenelia belong to whomever currently holds the rights...I'm just borrowing them for a while. No infringement is intended, really. Really really. Please don't sue me, I have no money. If, however, you have a burning desire to hire me and PAY me money to write this kinda stuff, feel free to track me down.